break me down, you've got a lovely face
by grimey-gal
Summary: Chucky is a masochist with emotional problems. A commission fill.


In the most technical sense, the word masochist means a person who derives sexual satisfaction from their own pain and humiliation. Chucky knows what the word means, has used it to refer to others and has heard it be used to refer to others. He knows that Tiffany was not this; pain and humiliation made her angry and distant, and whenever he had tried anything of the sort, it had always gone sour and he had not felt very proud of his choice. In the end, typically she had gotten revenge, and had torn him asunder. The way he felt during then, well, he isn't sure he is ready to talk about it. He has always associated the word with someone who submits or is dominated, and he does not like the sound of either of those.

He does know that he looks forward to conflict, and pain. He has always been sure that it did not really matter, so long as he ended up on top as the victor. He had been sure of this for quite a long time, and then life happened, and particularly Andy Barclay happened. And when Andy Barclay had held a hand against his throat out of anger and frustration and pure authority for the first time, there was an electricity that lay in the pit of his core, and he remembers feeling his pulse so strong, just underneath the hold between Andy's index and thumb. His heart had fluttered wildly, and there was an uncontrollable rushing. He had not understood it, but he had known one thing for sure: he wanted more.

He craves more, and it had been what spurred him to continue pursuing Andy, despite not necessarily needing him anymore. Although, when he thinks about the way it makes him feel, when they're eye to eye, chest to chest in combat, he wonders if perhaps he does need him after all. Deep down, he knows he is not alive if he is not facing Andy, feeling his blood boil with immense heat, charging against him, feeling anger, pain, humiliation. He had always appreciated when he had won against him in any measure in the past, but the first sting of defeat had held such a thrill to him. The first time he had tasted it, he felt as if he had truly discovered something rare and delicious, almost forbidden. And his appetite for the forbidden has only grown.

There is a constant hunger, for Andy's hands on him, and not in the way that most would yearn for touch. He wants a hit, he wants a bite, he wants to antagonize and be punished for it. He wants to be throttled and thrown, and broken. He knows Andy will give this to him. He just needs to push the right buttons.

It is lucky he knows Andy so well, and knows just how to crawl under his skin. Andy is not the most readable person by any means, but with the right amount of care and patience, there is a weak link. A chink in his stolid armor. He just needs to say and do the right thing, and strike him somewhere vulnerable and hot. He needs to flip the switch on inside him, because when he does, he will get what he wants. He will have what he needs. When he turns Andy Barclay, he is never disappointed by the result. He just needs to do it right, and the energy he gives, he will get in return. It never fails to work this way.

The right moment strikes, surprisingly while Andy is at work, and he has gone down to visit. He has made quite the habit of bothering Andy while he is tending to his shop, to the point that regulars have become used to his presence - and even look forward to it. He can tell by the shine in their eyes. It is entertaining to them, when he and Andy argue and harp at each other. He loves the attention, and leaving Andy bewildered and flustered is merely a bonus. He can feel himself grinning just thinking about it.

He's whistling when he enters the shop from the back door connected to the stairs. A little out of breath, but already leering, the hunger for conflict growling in his stomach. Andy hears a customer call his name before he turns to see him, the tell-tale scowl of annoyance already forming on his brows. There is green in his eyes, Chucky can see the light catch it just barely.

"Don't panic, I'm here now," he announces, despite the current residents in the store already aware. He only says it to watch Andy roll his eyes and blow out a hot breath. One that he has felt many times on the back of his neck. He swallows heavily, the longing burning inside him.

He makes his way to the counter, hopping on top of it despite the physical toll it takes on him. He regains his bearings, leaning back on his hands, and gives Andy a wink, enjoying the way Andy deliberately turns away from him, muttering angrily under his breath. The customer enjoys it as well, smiling to himself and shaking his head.

"Alright, how much did you fuck up before I got here? Be honest," he teases, just to begin a small rise out of Andy. But he has merely begun. These playful quips will get him nowhere, he knows. He has to strike where it hurts, and hard. He has to give Andy the feeling of losing control, to make him retaliate. He wants to be bruised for weeks.

"You do realize that I've been running this without you for a while now, right?" Andy responds, no change in his voice. As it usually is. But the fact that he has responded means he has engaged, and the game can begin. He threw the ball in Andy's court, and Andy had ricocheted it back, as he'd hoped he would. As he'd known he would. They are both in a cycle, and neither of them ever do anything to end it.

"I don't want to imagine what it had been like," he returns quickly. At this, Andy snorts, but distracts himself with work, and Chucky is left with the thrumming. Either Andy is truly unaware, or he is playing him. If it is the latter, it is working, as the silent treatment that follows drives Chucky insane. Beyond the occasional joke directed at his expense (to which customers laugh and play along, ignorant of the opposition that is occuring), Andy does not spare another word towards him for the remainder of his shift.

This is when Chucky decides it is time to stomp his foot and nick his ankle with a letter opener, to which Andy retaliates by swiping the letter opener and pocketing it, giving Chucky a stiff smile before pinching his ear and tugging him aside, opening the drawer. It stings, but not enough. It is never enough, not until he truly has every piece of Andy's attention. He is an all or nothing personality, but with Andy, even nothing is not acceptable. He needs it all, and only all of it.

"Please find something else to do," Andy says, and he despite the pleasantries, he is not begging. It is a demand. Chucky can hear it in his tone. He is not asking. He is ordering. Chucky grins, giddier than anyone should be in the face of a threat. He kicks at Andy's shin again, enjoying Andy's hiss of annoyance. He knows that the cut stings.

"I did find something to do, in case you didn't notice," he replies, a little too smug. Andy stares at him for a minute, and he thinks he may have finally gotten his attention. But Andy leaves his side instead, closing down the shop doors, locking the gates and setting the alarm. Chucky watches, in disappointment and disbelief, as Andy continues to shut down his store, a complete one-eighty from what he had been expecting. The customers are gone. They are alone. He had set the scene. And yet, Andy had decided suddenly that he just didn't feel like playing.

He growls in irritation. He tugs at his ear, wanting to feel it again. The brush of aggression, small as it was. The subtle display of dominance. He wants there to be a challenge. He wants to rise to that challenge and lose to Andy Barclay's hand. His own hand is not enough. It is merely a taste. He wants more than a small sting.

Another useless jab and he is upstairs in the apartment again, drunk and fuming. He can't stop his leg from shaking against the couch. Which is irritating, considering he has never had a nervous tic before. He blames it on Andy. A lot of problems have been cropping up inside him because of Andy lately. The aggressive frustration builds up on itself and it explodes out in the form of him throwing beer cans at the walls, one nearly hitting Andy straight between the eyes when he walks through the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks, breathless. He takes a look around the apartment, noticing the mess. His eyes widen in disbelief. Chucky whips around to face him, feeling himself burning to the brim. Seeing Andy in his eyeline does nothing to cool the fever. If anything, it only pours more gasoline on the flame.

"Mind your damn business," is what he growls back in response, crumpling up another empty can and chucking it in Andy's general direction as hard as he can. Andy curses and mutters something under his breath, dodging it at the last second.

"What're you looking for, Chucky?" he asks, finally. He sounds a bit impatient.

"Why do I have to be looking for something? Can't you just accept that you're a little shit and I hate you?" Chucky slurs out.

The light in Andy's eyes changes then. A different glow, an animal on the prowl. "No," Andy persists, head cocked to the side. "You want something, don't you?"

Oh and he does. He cannot die the thrill he's feeling, just from the way the hair rises from the back of his neck because of the change in Andy's tone of voice. He feels the challenge growing between them again. The gauntlet has been thrown. He has waited and thirsted, and now Andy is finally picking it up. He can feel himself salivating just from the thought of it, and his fists clench instinctually. He can feel his pulse thrumming away, and he swallows. He can practically feel his excitement growing.

"You could never give me what I want," he antagonizes, standing up. He takes a step forward. He notices Andy does the same. He finds an irrational joy bubbling up out of him, and he giggles wildly. "Even though I'm sure you want to so badly."

"What?" Andy asks, pointedly, but Chucky can see his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down, and boy is it mesmerizing. He knows he has struck a nerve. He will not pretend that he has not noticed the lingering glances, the longer touching, or the way they've gotten comfortably closer, and closer, and closer. He knows. He just wants to spring the trap. He will not deny he has enjoyed those moments, but they are too slow, too cold. He wants things to sizzle, he wants to be sauteed, and he wants Andy to be the oil, singeing him, stinging him, He want to burn.

"You know what I mean, and you're a fucking coward, Andy Barclay," he spits, watching the rage igniting in Andy's pupils. But he has his complete attention, and this is what he wants. "You've always been a coward. Weak and pathetic. You have no ambition, and no motive, and no balls."

A lot of things happen very fast, very suddenly. Chucky faintly registers bottles and crushed cans and other items crashing off of the table, and feels Andy's hand around his throat. His skull smashes against the floor, and he feels his brain rattling around inside. He finds himself frazzled, and a little out of breath, but exhilarated nonetheless. Andy looms over him, a scowl plastered on his face, but he can see underneath, he feels the same addicting excitement. They have both been waiting for this for a long, long time.

"Say that again," Andy threatens, and there is so much venom in his voice. Chucky loves how he is finally able to pull the strings. He has sprung the trap, and is caught in it. Andy is the hunter, and he cannot wait for what might happen now.

"What? The part where you said you had no balls?" he repeats, groaning when his head is slammed against the floor again. Andy slaps him across his cheek, the back of his hand swift and strong, and Chucky cannot help the fact that his blood instantly rushes south. He has been fantasizing on this for a long time. The last time they'd been intimate, it had been rough, but they had been inexperienced, and he had only craved more since. He wants the monster in Andy to come out and wreck him.

This is what a masochist is, he thinks vaguely to himself, as he eggs Andy on, just to be thrown against the floor once more, just to feel himself be abused at Andy's hands. He is enjoying every second of it, even though he yelps when Andy lifts him up and smashes him against the coffee table, his lower back sure to bruise from its wooden edge. Andy has a strong grip in his hair, and he feels as if he is being scalped, from the way he pulls so he has to look at him. The satisfaction he feels when he sees that same excitement in Andy's eyes is more than he had expected. Andy is thoroughly enjoying this as well, although he masks it under a heavyset brow. He can feel the way his pulse twitches. He has been waiting to decimate him, he had just needed an out. And Chucky has given him the out he needed.

"Go on, then, do you worst," he taunts, despite knowing there is absolutely no escape for him at this point. "You think you can break me?"

"I don't know," Andy murmurs, hand on his jaw. Their faces are close. He can feel the heat of Andy's breath against his cheek. "But I'm going to have fun finding out."

Chucky sinks his teeth into Andy's neck, and when Andy gives a low groan and tears away, his grin is much more obvious. He chuckles under his breath, and then Chucky feels his head being lifted by his hair and slammed down again, and he can feel the scratch of Andy's beard against his neck, and Andy's teeth against his ear.

"I hope you last, button," Andy whispers into him, and Chucky knows he remembers. They both do. It isn't as if they could forget. This has happened before, and it is happening again. "I want to play with you for a long, long time."

He has waited so long for this. They both have. He can feel Andy's pent up desire now, brushing against his leg, as Andy presses into him, already fumbling with his buttons. He does not kiss him this time, and a part of him breaks just from this, but he is determined to hold out. It isn't a fight if he does not resist, after all. Andy holds him down by his neck again, and the lack of air makes him dizzy.

"Is... that… all you've got…. Andy?" he laughs, between heavy breathing. Andy is tearing off his clothes now, tossing them aside, and something about how animalistic he moves is a wild turn on. He has known this. It still throws him off every time. He thinks perhaps it might be because Andy is so gentle in every other aspect of his life. Sometimes, he forgets just how assertive Andy can be. He shivers from the cold air hitting his skin, but also from this rerun revelation.

Andy does not respond to his taunt, not verbally anyways. He does swing him over his shoulder, carrying him into his bedroom. Chucky is plopped onto the bed, feeling the cushioned mattress and pillows beneath him as he sinks into them, and before he can sit up, Andy is back over him again. He barely catches a glimpse of what appears to be rope, red, before he is flipped over and Andy is sitting on top of him, tying his arms behind his back. He grunts when Andy ties the first know. It's tight.

"Ah, so you need to tie me up, a big man like you? I've been saying you're a pussy," and he doesn't know why he keeps doing it, but he can't help himself. The ropes are new, and there's something about it that strikes a bit of fear into him, but he smarts off nonetheless.

Andy snorts at this, practically ignoring his prodding. Chucky watches as he continues to tie the rope around him. Andy's hands are steady but rough, and he cannot help the low hiss that escapes him every time he feels the rope cut into his skin. Time has passed, and he can feel everything now. It is a blessing and a curse. He is not sure what it is right now. It does not take long before he realizes what Andy is doing. The criss cross patterns Andy is forming across his body are unmistakable.

"Oh, you've been on the naughty side of the internet, huh, Barclay?" he says, as Andy ties yet another knot. He knows this will leave marks. He can already feel the way the knots affect his blood flow. Andy has tightened it just enough; which of course he has. He has to admire the amount of dedication; this is not an art that comes overnight. He had no idea either, which only leaves him more begrudgingly impressed and curious as to how Andy had managed this.

He'll never say it, but his favorite part of letting Andy destroy him is that he knows through it all, Andy Barclay will take care of him. He always has. He always will. Chucky does not like giving up control, and he will fight tooth and nail to keep it, but losing it to Andy always feels alright. Much better than alright, as he continually pushes for Andy to take it, over and over again.

"You're one to talk about being naughty," Andy replies, calmly, and Chucky has already noticed it countless times so far tonight, but every time he looks into his eyes and sees nothing but eager dominance, he feels an electrifying sensation. Or maybe it is just the ropes, marking him. Either way, he can feel the shift taking over in his mind already, of the role he is about to play. "Wasn't it you that was practically begging for me to do this to you?"

He is saying this as he casually takes each of his nipples and pinches them in what appears to be very rudimentary clothespins. Chucky snorts, unsure of what Andy expects this will do.

"I haven't the slightest fucking clue what you're talking about," he retorts, and Andy is laying him down with his stomach against the bed, a hand running up against his left thigh. The sound of the slap against his ass registers before the sting does, and he inhales, sharply.

"You know exactly what I'm referring to, button, don't try and deny it now," Andy murmurs against his ear, a hand cupping his ass, rubbing at it. Chucky anticipates it before it comes again, another blow that smarts, and then he sees Andy rolling up his sleeves, and god if that doesn't make him hard, just from the sheer knowledge of what this means. Andy smacks him again, hard, and this time, he grunts. When his body shakes, the clothespins tug at his nipples, and now he understands. He can hear a shuffling, and the next time he feels a sting across his ass cheeks, he distinctly knows it is not Andy's hand. He can feel the leather cutting into his skin.

"Now," Andy starts, and runs his fingers over the reddening marks. He squeezes his ass firmly before smacking it again. "You've finally got all of my attention , just like you wanted. But I've got all of you, all night. Ultimately, you're mine. Do you understand that?"

"Fuck off," Chucky spits at him, and the belt comes down hard this time, and he whines. He shouldn't enjoy how it hurts. But he does.

"That's alright," Andy responds coolly, whipping him again. "You will."

The amount of confidence in the statement shows what control he has gained now in comparison to the very first time they'd done this. It's dizzying. The first time, they had both been all emotions. Andy had been a novice at it, unsure and reacting from gut instinct.

This, Chucky thinks - as he's stricken again by the belt, it's whistling penetrating his ears before it lands with another punishing blow - this is something entirely different. The first time they'd done this, Andy might have burned out, if he'd fought longer. This time, he knows merely from the way Andy is handling him that he will go all night, if that's what it takes. And he will enjoy the entire process of breaking him down.

He's lost count of the amount of times his bottom has been offended by the belt when he feels his eyes welling up. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip anyways, just out of spite. And, honestly, out of a morbidly genuine curiosity as to what Andy will do, should he hold out long enough. The tears do fall though, and he is mortified that he has no way to hide it, and Andy catches it almost right away, swiping them off of his cheeks with his index finger.

"What's wrong? Isn't this what you wanted, button?" he asks, and it takes everything in Chucky's power not to sob uncontrollably when he is hit again, and again, and again. Andy pulls back for a moment, and this is the moment that is the worst; when Andy makes that sound with the belt and yet Chucky never feels the hit. He winces for nothing, and the grin on Andy's face is too much for him to bear.

He expects a taunt, and then for Andy to ease up, but instead Andy's hand is on his ass again, smacking with no mercy in sight, and the intimacy of it being his hand again changes things for him. The pins are surely bruising his nipples now, and they add more layers of pain each time Andy lays a punishing hand on him.

"There, now, don't give up so soon," Andy murmurs, and Chucky growls, despite so desperately tempted to call it quits. Andy is squeezing his ass now, no doubt running his hands over the marks he's left. Chucky can tell from the way his fingers trace across his now hyper-sensitive skin. He's tracing the lines of where his skin is no doubt bruised and swelling. Andy leans in close, smacking him again, biting at his ear. "I'm nowhere near done yet."

"When did I say I was giving up?" Chucky challenges, despite his voice shaky. Despite tears drying on his cheeks. His pride will be the death of him. Andy chuckles, running his fingers in Chucky's tangled hair before tugging it back, exposing his neck, biting into him. He rolls him onto his back, marking down his throat, and Chucky knows he won't be going anywhere tomorrow. Not without wounding his pride publicly. Andy nibbles- no, gnaws- at his collarbone, and he inhales sharply, catching himself only barely. Andy laughs against him, mouth sucking, beard scratching, and Chucky feels so sore, from the ropes and from the belt.

His cock, untouched, reflects the sentiment. Bound in the red, he can see it now, straining against its restriction. Denied. Andy catches his eyes, and for a moment, Chucky believes that this is it, but Andy does not touch him.

"Well? What happens now?" he asks, struggling in his binding. He is trying to keep his ground, but he can feel his strength slipping out of him. His attempt at a provocation sounds more like a whine, and Andy scrapes his teeth against his earlobe, clearly enjoying every taunt he makes.

So Andy has even ruined his chances of saving face. His attempts to fight back have only caused Andy immense joy, and if anything, have fueled him to go on longer.

"It's so nice that you have such a mouth on you," he says in response, and even though he is petting his hair, Chucky knows Andy is not planning on being gentle anytime soon. The sound of his fly coming undone confirms his suspicions. Andy taps his cheek, turning him over and pushing him down, pushing his face against his cock. Chucky makes an effort to gag, as if it offends him, but truthfully, the smell and feel of it leave him eager. Breathless.

"Be good now, button, don't do something you'll regret," Andy coaxes. Everytime. Everytime he uses that endearment, it makes Chucky melt, and he absolutely despises it. Andy should not have any kind of dominion over him with such a simple word, and yet, he does. There are several pet names he has used in their most secretive and intimate moments, ones that he will never disclose to anyone. But this one - this one gets under his skin. It hits him right in places he didn't know he had anymore.

Andy is pushing his cock into his mouth, and the way it sets on his tongue makes it hard for him to resist. But he does, practically grinning up at Andy, who lets out a sigh, grinning. Chucky doesn't know how to feel about the fact that his stubbornness is endearing. He opens his mouth to snap at him, and then realizes too late that he's lost.

"There, now, no teeth. I promise you won't like what comes next if you do," Andy warns him, and Chucky feels the head slide behind his teeth, and he is so, so tempted. He suckles at it for a moment, before giving Andy a look and biting down as hard as he can, enjoying the way that Andy groans aloud.

"Oh," Andy gasps out. "Oh." He takes Chucky's head in his hands, and Chucky does not like the way he is smiling right now. Andy is deep into his hair, and then Chucky feel his throat being rammed, and he gags, tears pricking at his eyes against his volition yet again. He sucks in air through his nostrils, squirming frantically in his bondage, and Andy is just holding himself so deep inside him, and Chucky has forgotten just how large he is…

And then Andy pulls out, and Chucky is gasping for air, and coughing, and his heart is beating in his throat, and his own cock is hurting more than ever. The line of his saliva connects his mouth to the tip of Andy's cock. Andy pushes back in, and for the first time, he whimpers, because despite everything, he is just a little bit afraid.

"Now," Andy says, tapping his cheek. "Let's try that again, hmm, button? No teeth."

This time, Chucky does not try him.

With his mouth around Andy's cock, gagging and attempting to not do anything to cause that again, he feels Andy's hand trailing down his stomach, curling around his cock, and he thinks that perhaps now, this will be over soon. He finds out very soon he is mistaken, as Andy only teases him, hands around his balls, only barely rubbing, before removing contact, and he is becoming very frustrated.

"Andy," he grits out around the cock in his mouth, and he wants to scream so badly. At this point, it is hurting his entire body just to hold himself together. He does not know how long they have been like this, with Andy toying with him as he likes, and he does not know how much longer they will be like this. There are no clocks anywhere, nothing to give him any count-down. At this point, he does not know how long he will hold out, and this worries him. Andy pulls him off of his cock, running his head around Chucky's chin and mouth.

"I like this look on you much better," Andy says, and Chucky doesn't even want to know what that means. He doesn't have much of a choice on the matter, as Andy swivels him on the bed to face the dresser mirror, and he can see just what it is Andy is crowing about. He looks debauched. He cannot help himself when he scowls at it, just wanting to challenge it so bad. He can still see the mark where Andy had first slapped his cheek, drool around his chin, his nipples are definitely beginning to swell from the pinch of the clothespins, and his eyes are red-rimmed. He can see the tears welling up, and more than ever, he fights to push them back down.

Andy is nowhere near concerned as to how he feels about having to look at himself as he's already adjusting him onto his lap, sucking at his neck again. It's worse, seeing his reflection, watching Andy's hand graze over his body, his mouth against his neck. Andy puts a hand around his throat, and jerks his face towards the mirror.

"You're not allowed to look away," he growls into his ear, and just as Chucky begins to retort, Andy rips one of the pins off, and he stops mid-argument and screams from the shock. Andy flicks at the remaining pin, a threat. A tear falls then, and he has to watch it happen. Andy is pinching his free nipple, and Chucky does not have to wonder, he knows that Andy enjoys it; he can see his grin, reflecting at him.

Andy bites at his ear, and then his hand is trailing down, and the hiss of relief Chucky feels when Andy's fingers wrap around his cock seems to echo. Andy laughs into his skin, tugging at him, and then he feels the slap of the belt, but on his inner thigh, and he outright screams. Andy holds him by the chin as he whips him, and he watches his breakdown in the mirror, his face crumpling against his will.

"Oh, what?" Andy taunts him, and if he weren't tied up, Chucky feels he might have right-hooked him then. But the desperation is hard for him to contain, and when Andy whips him again, the belt staking another claim across his chest, he wriggles against the bonds, despite knowing that it is a fruitless effort. Andy continues, lips against his ear, sending shockwaves down his spine. "You thought there'd be a little bit of foreplay and you'd get what you wanted? So soon?"

He slams Chucky's body against the bed, hand on his face, forcing him to stay with his eyes on the mirror. Chucky, despite his pride and judgment, finds himself mesmerized and unable to tear his reflection away. Something about him smashed into the mattress, tied, bruised, with Andy above him, is much, much more arousing when he can see it. He can watch his defeat, and finally see what Andy sees. He can be the surrendered and the victor, all in one.

He watches as Andy sinks his teeth into the flesh of his ass, and he feels the gurgling laugh before it comes. "Come on, Andy, enough with the theatrics," he says, despite bucking from the feel of Andy's teeth scraping and drawing blood. "You and I both know you can break me, so do it already."

"Ah, so now it's I can break you," Andy responds. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. "How disappointing."

He slaps Chucky's cock, and Chucky growls and twists against the bed. "Rest assured, I will break you," Andy mutters. He runs a finger down his spine, down across his ass, until it is poking at him. Prodding into him. "But it will be on my terms, button."

Andy pushes two fingers into his mouth, a hand clenching his jaw open. He knows he would try to bite. And he would be right. His fingers are all knuckles in, and Chucky gags around him, squirming under him, just trying to breathe through his nose. No sooner have Andy's fingers left his throat, they are jammed into his asshole, thrusting just as forcefully as they had been when they were in his mouth. Chucky begins to pant, a soft whine starting in his throat.

"Andy, c'mon already," he goads, to no avail. They've done this enough times before that he knows that Andy knows how to touch him. The fact that Andy has not hit him just right means that Andy is doing this intentionally. He is merely stretching him out, making him burn, just because he wants to. And because he can.

And he is not planning on changing his agenda anytime soon. Chucky knows this when he starts whistling, digging through a bag on the floor.

"Jesus, you really spent time and money on me, huh?" he wheezes at the sight of the dildo. It is not as large as Andy, but its size is intimidating all the same. Andy starts fingering him again, curling his fingers only once, and Chucky feels lightheaded, and then it is only more pain. He chokes back a scream, and Andy guides the dildo towards his mouth.

"Open up, button," he says. His voice is low and gentle, but Chucky knows better than to fall for it. There is a trick somewhere. "As soon as you do what you're told, you'll have everything you want."

He touches him again inside, just so, and Chucky cannot help the moan that spills out then. Andy slides the toy into his mouth. Another gentle stroke, and he finds himself suckling at it, just to feel Any touch him that way again. Anything to keep Andy's fingers right where they are. There is no point in fighting or biting at this point, seeing as the toy will feel nothing. There is no winning consequence for him if he misbehaves.

Andy chuckles, clicking his tongue. Chucky feels a wave of humiliation and defeat, but it doesn't stop him from following his own desperation. Andy grabs him by the ropes along his arms, and Chucky feels the dildo be pulled from his mouth, only for Andy to shove it into his ass, thrusting it in and out roughly. It is cold, and hard, and it feels nothing like Andy's fingers, or his cock, and it leaves him void of satisfaction.

He turns his eyes back to the mirror, desperately hoping to see Andy preparing to enter him soon, but he sees Andy settling in, seemingly content to fuck him on this toy. He holds him over his lap and shoves his head into the mattress, changing the angle, and Chucky can feel the plastic phallus going deep inside him, harsh and unforgiving.

"Andy…" he tries to grit out, and he had a biting comeback, he swears he did, but he feels the thrust of the dildo again, and Andy pulling at his hair, and he forgets what he was going to say. "Please!"

"What do you want, button?" Andy asks, but the wolfish grin on his face gives it away. Andy knows what he wants. He just wants to hear him beg for it. This was the trick. Andy had given him a little taste, just to yank it away.

Andy Barclay is cruel, and he knows it. And Chucky loves it, whether he'll admit it or not. At the moment though, it is only causing his desperation to rise. His body is aching, and his cock is straining against the rope, and there is no mercy for him.

"You know what I want, so just hand it over already!" he screeches, feeling himself go feral. Andy whips him, and it comes by surprise, and he screams. "Ah!"

"That is not the way to ask, and you know that," Andy reprimands him, and the belt smacks against his already injured ass again, and Chucky hisses. "Try again."

He pushes the toy back in at that, and Chucky knows he will not budge until he gets what he wants. He is not bothered by having to continue this way either, Chucky can see that in his eyes. His panic grows. He wriggles in his bonds, buckling against Andy's lap.

"Fuck me, you piece of shit," he growls, whining.

Andy hums disapprovingly. "Aren't I already?" he asks, pushing the dildo in deeper with his thumb. He taps at it when it pops up, and Chucky feels the burning each time it rubs in and out against the rim of his hole. "Are you saying you want my cock inside you, button?"

Chucky inhales, just trying to steady his breath. Andy cups his cock and strokes gently. He feels the pressure building in his stomach. "Come on now, button, don't be so stubborn," Andy coos in his ear, and Chucky shivers. He's panting into the mattress, his arousal about to explode out of him. "All you have to do is ask nicely."

"...Andy…"

He grits his teeth. The dildo pushes in and out. Hard, unfeeling.

"...please…"

Andy does not change course. He just snickers and continues to fuck him with the toy, his hand now removed from Chucky's cock. Chucky presses his face into the mattress, angry and humiliated. His cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

"...I want you to fuck me."

No change. He growls, feeling his eyes welling up.

"I need it to be you, Andy. Please, please … fuck me."

Andy slides the toy out. Chucky feels his entire body shudder in relief. He is already lifting his ass up, and he swallows heavily, trying hard not to break. He is sure he has made it through the worst part now, and finally, he can have what he wants. Andy angles himself, pushing in without preparation or warning, and Chucky shouts as Andy sinks into him, deep and punishing.

"A-Andy!"

Andy snaps into him again, drawing another cry from his throat. "Is this what you wanted, hmm?" he asks, leaning over him, his body warm and strong against his small body. "You wanted me to fuck you myself? Nothing is quite as good as me, isn't that right?"

Chucky grunts, just trying to adjust, but god does it feel right. It feels more than right; it is perfect, it was wanted, it was needed. He can't move at all, and there is no escape. He can feel Andy deep inside him, warm but firm, and he wants to cum each time Andy hits his prostate.

"Yes," he relents, and it's true, nothing is quite as good as him actually having Andy inside him, and he just wants Andy to bring him to completion, he'll do anything to get it. Andy rams him again, but he has not released the ties around his cock, and Chucky can only feel the growing pressure, and even as he waits, the relief does not come. Andy bites his shoulder, fucking him hard, and he is throbbing from head to toe. He chokes, and then he begins to whimper. Andy slams harder into him, filling him up and drawing out tears.

"A-A-Andy…!" he cries, feeling his body fall into the mattress each time Andy thrusts inside him. He squirms, helpless, bound. "I-please… I… I can't. It's too much."

"Oh, no, button," Andy murmurs in his ear, snapping his hips. The table has officially been turned, and Andy is taunting him now. "You can and you fucking will. You wanted this so bad. I'm just giving you what you want."

He pumps into him, harder, and Chucky sobs, beyond broken. Pleas spill from his mouth, and he begins to babble, in so much pain just from wanting to feel release.

"Andy, Andy," he begs, helpless. "Please! Please… it's so much - it's so much, fuck! Just let me cum, let me- ahh, ahh!"

Andy turns his head so he faces the mirror again, and he can see his hair mussed and his cheeks stained with tears. He scowls, but then he's sobbing again, and he sees himself, with Andy fucking him, breaking down in his reflection.

"You want to come, button?" Andy asks, thrusting into him, punishing him just right. Chucky nods, crying against the mattress, feeling his nose start to run. "You'll be good for me, won't you, button?"

"Yes," Chucky whimpers, and he is desperate beyond imagination. "I'll do anything, I'll do anything, Andy, please. I'll be good, I'll be so good, I promise, please…!"

"Fuck," Andy is moaning, and Chucky feels him throbbing and stretching inside him, releasing. He pants against Chucky's ear, not moving. Just still. Chucky can feel his rapid heartbeat against his neck. He feels each time Andy twitches inside him, more warm liquid filling him. "You're irresistible when you talk like this, you know that?"

Chucky is sniffling, the intensity gone, save for his cock, which is still red and swollen and needy. "Andy, please," he begs weakly, squirming against him. "Please - touch me. Touch my cock, please. I can't hold it anymore…"

"Of course, button," Andy replies, his voice soft. "I told you all you had to do was ask."

He rolls over, turning Chucky's body around so that he could cradle him, a hand around his cock. He gently strokes at it, tugging, and Chucky feels his senses rush back, and wants nothing more than to cover his face, but that is not an option. He bites his bottom lip until it bleeds, and then he is coming into Andy's hand, moaning loudly despite his efforts to save some small amount of pride. Andy leaves for a moment, presumably to clean up, and returns with a wet cloth.

"There, there," Andy murmurs, as he wipes Chucky down, cleaning the mess they've made. He wipes stray tears from his cheeks. Tears he hadn't even realized were still there. "That's my good guy. You did so good, baby."

He begins to undo the bindings, and Chucky feels his muscles screaming with relief as each knot comes apart. Andy rubs at his arms and legs, bringing the tingling rush of blood back into his veins. Chucky can hear his heartbeat in his ears; he feels his adrenaline coming down, slowly, and the need for validation creeping in. He sniffles, and when Andy finally kisses him, pressing his lips against his forehead, he cannot stop the tears, no matter how hard he tries. He never can, at this part.

He loves to be broken down by Andy Barclay, and the truth is, it is because he believes he deserves it. He knows he has done Andy wrong, time and time again, and he will let him down in the future, again and again. Nothing feels better than when Andy breaks him down, leaving him ruined, drawing cries out of him, bruising him.

But, now that his thirst for pain has been quenched, nothing feels better still, than when Andy pieces him back together, and this is a feeling that is so good that it hurts. Because this part is hard for him to believe he deserves. Andy positions him down on the bed, stomach against the pillows, and Chucky winces when he feels a warming oil being rubbed into his sore bottom. He can see the marks now, looking in the mirror, and he knows the marks will be there for days.

It is so hard to accept this part. He cries, face in the pillows, trying to hide it, knowing there is no point. He knows Andy can tell, from the way his body is shaking. His strength has been exhausted beyond him being able to pretend right now. It is easy for him to accept punishment from Andy, he is a glutton for it, but it is hard for him to accept love from him. This part is hard. Harder than everything Andy had just done to him.

"Hey, hey," and now Andy is crooning to him, and Chucky is sobbing again, but for an entirely different reason. Andy turns him over, rubbing his knuckles against his cheeks, touching him gently. Kissing him gently, his beard only lightly scratching his skin. This only makes things worse. "You know I love you, don't you, button?"

"Don't," Chucky growls, defensive despite his tears. He shoves at Andy's hands, a scowl etching into his face. "Cut that shit out, Andy, you know I hate it."

"Button," Andy says. He pulls Chucky into his arms, and as much as Chucky wants to pretend he doesn't want it, it doesn't take long before he melts, nose pressing into Andy's chest, crying his heart out. Andy's fingers run up and down his back. When he starts to stroke his neck, Chucky whimpers softly, and he holds onto Andy, finally surrendering.

"You held out for so long," Andy says, kissing him. He laughs into his hair. "I was really expecting to see the sun go up before I finally had you."

Chucky feels one of his hands slide down against his sore bottom, rubbing at it tenderly. He shifts in Andy's arms, unable to look at him. Not yet. This is always hard for him to come to terms with. Andy has to touch his chin, and carefully tug his face towards him, before he finally looks him in the eyes.

"It's okay," he says, and Chucky rolls his eyes, but he grins, before tucking his face away again, his entire body pulsing wildly.

"I hate you," he mutters. He knows they both know he doesn't mean it. Andy snorts and pulls the covers over them. "Yeah, hate you too. Now, if I'm tired, I know you are."

"As if you know anything," Chucky quips, but Andy is already falling asleep, arms cradling him as if he is the most precious thing in the world. Times like this, Chucky finds himself believing he actually is. He can feel Andy's breathing deepen against him.

His body is weary, he's weak, and Andy is right - he's exhausted. He is only going to be all the more sore tomorrow. He knows he's going to feel this for the next week or so, and something about that is exciting to him. Having Andy stake his claim on him kindles a fire inside him. Now that he has finally gotten what he'd been yearning for, he finds himself contentedly falling asleep, still replaying everything that had just occurred. The pain, the pleasure, his ultimate defeat, and Andy's aftercare (and more truthfully than anything, this part makes his stomach warm the most). He falls asleep with a contented grin on his face, the masochistic side of him finally satisfied.


End file.
